


Pearl of the Desert

by AppleSoda



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Comedy, Coming of Age, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Spoilers, Wyverns, claude parent ocs, dunking on the gloucesters forever, i wrote mom von riegan as a trash princess and i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-24 16:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSoda/pseuds/AppleSoda
Summary: Stories of kings, lords and proud people who were neither were just about the only thing she read, and their bravery and wit had always caused her heart to beat faster. If she closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, she could imagine herself as someone without fear, outthinking and outshooting whatever came her way. Surely that was how Riegan of the Ten Elites had fought through his foes long ago.“I’m not going to be claimed,” Clara answered, with certainty. “I’m going to be crowned.”
Relationships: Claude Mom x Claude Dad
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue: Days of Discovery

It was well known throughout Duke Riegan’s household that his second child, Clara, was nearly impossible to put to bed or pull to errands and lessons. By age ten, six maids had requested reassignment, two leaving on the verge of tears. Rowan, her elder brother, had tried his best when the two shared a nursery. But as he departed for the earliest days of his studies, little Clara was more inconsolable than ever.

Clara von Riegan had a fighter’s spirit, and her aim was true and her arm sure. Her Crest had helped win esteem with the archery-masters of Deirdru Keep where she had earned disdain with the household staff. Whatever antics she busied herself with during tutoring, she earned praise back from her father during drills and sparring.

“No one’s going to claim you if you keep scaring servants,” pouted Francis. The Gloucester boy, who Clara despised, remained the sharpest of her critics. Fortunately, he often left his finely wovens slippers and expensive boots in plain sight, where someone could anonymously slip marbles and stolen kitchen honey into them.

“Claim?” Clara slid an arrow into a new quiver she had picked up at the market. “What do you mean by that?”

“As a girlfriend,” Judith of House Daphnel chimed in, and made a face. “Francis, you’re gross. Who thinks about that all day?” She inspected her practice sword carefully for dents and nicks, and grinned as it shone mirror-bright.

“If I am to be a suitable heir and an Alliance leader, unlike some people,” the boy shot a pointed look at Clara, “I will need to begin planning with haste.” Much to Clara’s dismay, Francis scored well on horsemanship, magic and statecraft in their small schoolroom.

But in history, Clara put away her scribbles of figuring out what to put into his shoes next and began to listen. Stories of kings, lords and proud people who were neither were just about the only thing she read, and their bravery and wit had always caused her heart to beat faster. If she closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, she could imagine herself as someone without fear, outthinking and outshooting whatever came her way. Surely that was how Riegan of the Ten Elites had fought through his foes long ago.

“I’m not going to be claimed,” Clara answered, with certainty. “I’m going to be crowned.”

“Ridiculous,” Francis muttered, with a short laugh. For a boy just two years older than she and Judith, he carried himself like he was even older than Rowan, House Riegan’s heir and the true future leader of the Alliance.“You’ve clearly decided you’d rather live with the fairies than among the rest of us humans. Will you even get into Garreg Mach at this rate?”

“Say that again.” Clara drew herself to her full height, glowering and picking up her bow.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Judith stepped in between them with a sigh. “If you start fighting again, Duke Riegan is going to find out, and then we’re all getting in trouble.”

Things had never been quite peaceful, but Clara was certain of what she had wanted. Even though she was to enter the Academy in two years, following her brother’s footsteps, it was worth it to dream beyond the Alliance, and envision a world of wider possibilities.

= =

Clara passed through the castle in near silence. A small lamp swung from her hand as she watched the servants move through their posts mechanically. It was late enough at night that guards had shifted to the perimeter of Duke Riegan’s estate, standing to watch against thieves or surprise attacks.

She had seen the the banner of House Goneril had been raised by a squire as she departed the training grounds earlier that afternoon. That could only mean one thing— sudden, urgent business by the House closest to hers. Duke Sylvester Goneril, her father’s confidant and Goneril’sHouse head, had brought various carts and carriages with him, and all evening, servants were moving boxes and crates into the castle.

Seated in two fine chairs in one of the lesser meeting halls were her father and the Duke, attended lightly. A roaring fire and stand lamps illuminated the room. But neither seemed calm. From the looks of it, Clara was certain that they were disagreeing about something.

“Well, they’ll have to face the facts. If there is to be no treaty, we move at month’s end,” Duke Riegan stared into his wineglass. “I’d rather not make the first move against the Almyrans, but our options dwindle. Get it done,” he looked over to the pink-haired man.

“Understood,” Goneril nodded.

“There remains one last matter from the Fodlan’s Throat campain,” Duke Sylvester gestured to the door. Clara crept into a crevice to hide, careful to still her breathing. She put out the lamp quickly, and edged closer to get a better view.

With significant effort, two footmen carried a wooden crate into the meeting chamber. Holes had been cut or burned into the side, and it shook slightly as it was set down. Gingerly, they pulled at ropes that had latched it shut.

From the crate leapt a small creature with a roar that resembled that of a wildcat. It unfolded leathery wings, and yowled as the chain on its leg dragged against something weighty in the back of the crate. Bright cords tooled leather bands and ribbons dangled from its neck, haunches and back. Two small nubby horns poked out from its head, banded by expensive-looking silver rings studded with gems.

“A wyvern,” Duke Riegan stated. “Common enough of a beast. Hardier than the pegasi in our ranks. But what about it?”

“Its harnesses bear the regalia of the Almyrans— a high-ranking household, if my advisors are to be believed. What do you suppose that means?” Goneril looked over, looking as pleased with himself as when Francis scored a point or two higher than Clara and Judith.

“They are moving troops there at a pace faster than we’d anticipated,” Riegan nodded solumenly.

“Precisely,” answered his friend.

“Well, what of this wyvern?” Riegan asked. “Do you intend for my children to keep it as a pet?” He laughed gently.

“Dispose of it,” Duke Goneril waved his hand. “The Saints know it’s not living for much longer, and it’s of Almyran breed..”

At that moment wyvern had made eye contact with Clara. Of that she was certain, even though it was almost impossible for anyone who didn’t know the castle inside-out to have seen her. But a jolt ran through her as she felt its piercing brown gaze locked to her green eyes, which were growing waterier at the thought of its demise.

“No!” She cried shrilly, bounding out as fast as her little legs would carry her. “Don’t hurt her!” Out of breath, she threw her arms out and stood between the two most powerful men of the Alliance and the young wyvern.

“Clara!” exclaimed Duke Riegan.

“Whelp, you would do well to stay out of the matters of adults!” snapped Duke Sylvester. “What is the meaning of this, Riegan?”

“Don’t hurt her,” she repeated. “She didn’t do anything but get caught. And—and—-” Under the imperious gaze of both her father and Duke Goneril, tears filled her eyes, despite the fact that she hated to burst into tears. Ten was far too old for tantrums and tears.

As her arms closed around the neck of the creature, she felt the tension in the young wyvern’s muscles grow slack. Down went its wings, and it wrested itself out of her grasp to get a good look at her. There was intelligence in the wyvern’s eyes, and she wanted to know more about it--no, she had wanted to know everything she could.

“I suppose,” Duke Riegan said slowly, “I have jested far too soon about keeping it as a pet,” He let out the gentle laugh that Clara had known him for. Her heartbeat calmed as she released the wyvern, but still she stayed at its side.

“You aren’t serious,” Goneril protested.

“Ah, but I am soft over my daughter,” Riegan laughed gently. “Perhaps one day you’ll be old enough to have one of your own to spoil. Now, away with you, Clara. I shall have her lodged safely.”

“Th-thank you, Lord Father!” Terms like ‘pops’ and ‘old man’, her usual selection of words, had been set aside. Mimicking her brother in a knight’s bow, arm tucked behind her back, Clara bounded off to bed, excited for what lay in store for her and her newest friend.


	2. An Unexpected Flight

“I hate this stubborn, ill-tempered lizard,” Clara glared in the direction of her wyvern.

Swift was in one of her moods again, roaring so loudly that even other wyverns of the Alliance’s soldiers craned their necks over from adjacent stable stalls.

She held her hands out, and ran through clumsy Almyran she had overheard from House Goneril’s servants, who were often ordered to care and feed wyverns that served the Alliance’s sky-knights. “Stop, stop, quiet down!” She tried. But despite Clara’s best efforts, Swift merely thrashed away and crashed her head against the other side of her sleeping quarters.

Judith von Daphnel watched her friend in half-amusement and half-concern. Not many people were privy to watching House Riegan’s sharpest twenty-three year old deadeye, wielder of Failnaught, sink to her knees and plead and beg.

But Swift wasn’t just anyone, and Clara was certain that the wyvern was more temperamental because she knew her mistress’ soft spot.

“Need I remind you that you threw the mother of all tantrums to get her in the first place?” Judith’s mouth twitched into an amused grin as she watched her dearest, oldest friend try to apply medicine to her would-be sky-steed. House Daphnel’s heir had chosen a pegasus, ad had gotten along swimmingly with the gentle-natured mare.

“I know, I know. I just wish I could get through to her as a partner.” With a short, frustrated growl, Clara threw aside the cleaning brush she had tried in vain to use.

For a time, she and Swift were inseparable, and the two had been thick as thieves in the Academy and in her earliest days in the Alliance army. But for three months now, Swift was stubborn, unyielding, and had thrown her off every time she attempted to go for a flight. No trainer or carer was able to get close to the creature to check her for wounds, making a dire situation even worse.

“I do hate to say it, Maybe the two of you weren’t meant to be partners,” Judith propped her arms over the stable fence and watched her distressed best friend carefully. “Maybe it’s time to take her somewhere she’s happier.”

“You mean…let her go?” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine life without Swift. Whenever the moment of separation would come, Clara knew that it would be like having a piece of her heart taken out. There were few things she got sentimental over, but she held everything she found precious close.

And yet, it had been an option that Clara had considered when Swift thrashed about the most, or when she flew off to sulk for days on end.

“It’s up to you,” shrugged the other noblewoman. “But it’s a choice you’re going to have to make sooner or later. Whether she’s happier here or needs to be somewhere else.”

The problem with nobility was that no decision was just a decision. Every move a noblewoman made, from who she talked to at a party to how she dueled her opponents was a sign of her worth in the Alliance. Such ideas were something that both Judith and Clara had understood from birth, and the temperamental wyvern before them was another piece of an unfolding story larger than both of them combined. Clara felt a weight in her chest as she considered Swift. Aside from Judith and her brother, she had never had a great many friends inside or outside of House Riegan. And yet, she was taught right and wrong, and had the conviction to do what needed to be done. Her green gaze met the wyvern’s bright yellow eyes in a moment of understanding, and the choice had been made.

“If we’re going to return her home,” Clara decided, “then there’s one place in the Alliance to do it. You in?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Judith grinned at her friend, reached over, and ruffled the shorter girl’s hair. “How could I say no to any weird scheme by Clara von Riegan?”

= =

Fodlan’s Locket was a fortress that had changed hands between tentatively being held by House Goneril and by neighboring Almyran tribes that held the lands bordering the mountains surrounding it. Strictly speaking, there was no business that Houses Riegan or Daphnel would hold there. But both Clara and Judith were confident, and could bluff their way through anything resembling diplomacy.

Mercifully, Swift was easier to handle as they neared the mountains. But as they neared the fortress, Clara noticed that the wyvern had its gaze fixed upon something beyond the fort, and tugged at the reins as if to lead her in a direction of her own choosing.

Swift’s eyes, lucid and bright, were unencumbered by the temperament that had plagued her in Deirdru. For the first time in weeks, the creature relaxed into a stance that made it clear she was ready to take flight. The sight of her friend, well and healthy, set Clara at ease. For once in her life, she had made a decision that hadn’t backfired.

“Come on, old friend. Let’s get you back into shape.”

With an acknowledging wave to Judith, she grabbed ahold of the reins and climbed onto the wyvern. The skies ahead were brisk and unclouded, and as Clara stared ahead, she could see just what Swift did— an opportunity to start anew. Two powerful flaps of the wyvern’s wings sent them launching upwards with a fierce, sudden swoop. Both creature and rider, it seemed, had missed being airborne for too long.

The forests below reflected bright yellows and red colors of autumn, and if Clara was in the woods, she was certain that deer, both sacred Gold and ordinary brown bucks, would be roaming the mountains. As they coasted over Fodlan’s Throat, Clara saw the fortress and Judith, scouting the area on her pegasus, grow farther and farther away. Her worries had always ebbed whenever she was atop her wyvern or the precise moment when arrows struck true at a target. Those were the moments where no one was trying to figure her out, or trying to worm their way into her heart for less-than-ideal purposes.

“What if…” she said dreamily, “there was a way for us to get away from this mess?”

Swift grumbled something inaudible that Clara decieded was an assent. Life hadn’t been easy, after all, for a wyvern taken away, only to choose between exile and death.

“I know, Swift, I know.” But before she could say more, a gust of wind struck Swift hard in the side, sending them into a careening dive. A nasty gash bled droplets of blood from Swift’s leg, and the wyvern screeched in pain.

“A mage?!” Clara snapped. “Wait, I—”

From the Locket, she saw the distinct glow of a spell-book, and knew that she had only another moment to make a decision. If it was the wrong one, both she and Swift would perish.

“Trust me, old girl,” were her last words. She snapped the reins, dug in her heels, and sent them into the sharpest dive either of them had ever flown in. Then, Clara saw nothing, save for the crunch of tree branches as both she and Swift toppeled across the mountainside into the unknown.

= =

When Clara’s eyes twitched open, she awoke to the sight of the inside of a cave and a headache she knew would plague her for the rest of the day. As she gripped soft woolen blankets carefully laid out under her and propped herself up, she looked off to the side, where a small campfire had been set up.

Two men— Almyran, by their dress and demeanor, sat talking quietly. At the sight of her, the lankier of the two bolted upwards and hurried over, realizing she’d awoken. Her fingers closed over air, and panic jabbed into her, sudden and sharp.

“Where is my bow?” Clara snapped. “Did you take it?” She turned to the young man that had walked towards her, sizing him up just in case she needed to fight. In a one-on-one match, someone as slight as he was wasn’t going to be a problem.

The real threat, she surmised, was the bulkier, middle-aged one that had the look of a seasoned sholdier. He was stirring the fire with a stick, but his gaze spelled trouble in case she tried anything out of the ordinary.

“No, I put it with your things.” The young man’s matter-of-fact voice made it all too clear that he was someone who was tired of assuring others, but could memorize a tactics primer in a single night.

“Please— neither of us can pick that thing up without feeling like it’s on fire. What is that made of, anyways?” The older man frowned, crossing his arms over his broad, barrel-shaped chest.

Before she answered, she clambered over to where Failnaught lay against the side of the cave. “It’s a…uh, that’s a good question, actually. I just know it’s a Relic, and if someone hasn’t got a Crest, it’s bad news to use it…” She stumbled across her words, trailing off.

“I’m Kashif,” he held out his hand. “This is Nader, Commander of the Guard of the Kingdom of Almyra.”

“Of which he is Prince of. So I’d watch it with the bow, kid.” Nader grumbled.

“Clara von Riegan.” She offered in turn. “And I think we can have a conversation without threats, Commander Nader. Unless you’d like to try.” As she found her confidence, Clara looked the military man square in the eyes. Failnaught wasn’t a toy, after all, and that had to be made clear no matter who these men were.

“There is no need to pick a fight, Nader,” Kashif narrowed his eyes. “Her wyvern is injured, and there is no telling if she is well at the moment, either.”

“Hey!”

“I take it that this is a sign you were unscathed?” The Prince grinned slightly. He was hospitable where his older guardian was cautious. But try as he might, Nader’s eyes suggested he was a good-humored man in good company, even if his scars suggested he could scrap with the fiercest warriors.

“Well, I could be—wait, where’s Swift?” Clara wrenched away her blankets, and ran towards the entranec of the cave. Wind-spells had the power to devastate wyverns, who never tolerated magic very well. Her panicked gaze searched the area, before realizing that Swift had found sanctuary, just as she had.

The wyvern lay on a soft hay bed in the clearing outside the cave, contently chewing on a large piece of meat. Beside her was a slightly smaller wyvern of lighter coloring, fully adorned in an Almyran-style saddle and ornamentation.

“You are clearly this wyvern’s long-time friend,” Kashif said slowly. He held up his hand, as if to piece part of a puzzle together. “She was looking for you while you were unconscious.”

“Yes,” Clara answered.

“This is no novice’s wyvern, yet you fell from the sky.”

“No, I know. She’s just…. Well, she’s the most stubborn, leathery thing in the Saint’s Creation,” Clara crossed her arms with a short huff. “The first time I fly her in months…and….We were hit by a spell suddenly. I don’t know why, since Fodlan’s locket is supposed to protect us from…er….”

Clara trailed off, and avoided the gaze of her two rescuers. Both they and she knew the end to that sentence, and she preferred not to address bad politics.

“I—” The Almyran noble rubbed his temples, closing his eyes and clearly suppressing something he’d meant to say in response. “Well, I suppose I will do what I can to help, but I suspect I know why she’s suddenly reluctant to go into battle, and it has nothing to do with you.”

“I—wait, what *is* going on with them, anyways?” Clara watched Swift, favoring her uninjured leg, climb up and leap from a nearby rock facing, barreling towards Tempest with a purr-like growl. The two of them collided in a heap, and as the dust cleared, she noticed the fiercest, most stubborn creature she had ever known crane its neck over and begin to snuggle against the other wyvern.

“You can’t mean—” She said slowly, putting the pieces together at last.

“Ah, yes,” Kashif turned around to face her again, with a resigned, but amused expression. “It seems that at one point, some time ago, they decided to mate.”

Clara’s expression cracked into a slowly widening grin.

“Swift, you absolute dog,” she said, finally relaxing at finding her answer. “After all this time, you’re still capable of keeping secrets.”


End file.
